


This is what you want. What only I can give you.

by WeNeedARuse



Series: When it's like this. [6]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Arthur, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Porn With Plot, Rough Sex, Sex, Wall Sex, dom!dutch, pornish, slight porn, sub!Arthur, top Dutch, vandermorgan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 23:43:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18559516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeNeedARuse/pseuds/WeNeedARuse
Summary: "When it’s like this. When the world has gone to hell and Dutch can’t stop thinking, this is what Arthur can give him. The only thing."





	This is what you want. What only I can give you.

**Author's Note:**

> Welp. My muse returned just enough to let me write this (which has been swimming in my head for a good while), so I hope you guys like. Because this might be one of my favourites...
> 
> Again, these can all be read separately or together, depending on what takes your fancy. Read 'em backwards if you like, that might be interesting :)
> 
> Comments and kudos are so welcome (I'm a needy little thing), so please feel free! 
> 
> Anyhoo, enjoy!

Another new camp, another new place, but, hell, at least in this one he has an actual room. Or, so he’s been told because he hasn’t actually seen it yet. Too busy out, getting information, gathering. For them.

For Dutch.

The world has gone to hell. Or, at least, that’s how Arthur sees it right now. The world, their world, has gone to hell and there ain’t nothing he can do about it. 

So.

Two days in Saint Denis, one extra in the surrounding area and very little to show for it except a head full of worries.

Arthur just can’t stop thinking.

About the kid. About the Pinkertons. About Micah. About the money. The blood. The killing. The running. 

About Dutch.

In his darkest times Arthur imagines a world without Dutch. And it’s a world he wants no part of. 

The camp is quieter, subdued, even though it’s broad daylight. Even though they escaped with their lives. Even though at any other time Shady Belle would have been a coup for them. Sheltered, hidden and enough rooms for the most of them. But not right now. Right now it’s a stopping point. A waiting house. 

Arthur just wants to sleep.

He makes his way round through the house, unfamiliar with the layout and knowing only that his room is near Dutch’s.

As always.

It’s sparse. Not even a bed in it yet, just a rolled out mat on the floor. But the girls have done a good job, tried to make it comfortable for him.

Well. He’s slept on worse anyhow.

He drops his hat on the rickety stool by the window and turns towards the mat, unsnapping his suspenders as he does so. He’s reaching for his gun belt when a hand grips the back of his neck, pushing him forwards.

“You miss me, Dutch?” He huffs a laugh out but the hand tightens, pushes him further so that he has to reach out, press his palms to the wall. 

“Not a word.” Dutch kicks his feet apart.

Pushes up hard and urgent against him. Unbuttons his pants with one hand and shoves them down around his knees.

Undignified.

Arthur hears himself groan with need. Filthy.

“Not a one.” His voice is a growl, low and harsh and it speaks, it always does, to the base part of Arthur. The animal part that wants nothing more in the world than this.

To be fucked.

To be claimed.

Strongest.

Yet, the hand is still on him, forcing his head down but he can feel him wait.

Until he nods.

Then.

Oh then.

Dutch’s fingers are in his mouth and it’s just spit for ease now, he knows he’ll get nothing more. Dutch is rarely like this but when he is…

No, he’ll get nothing more.

And those fingers grip, likes he’s feeling his way. Like he wants to know him inside out. The way his mouth moves. The way he shapes his desire on his tongue. Arthur licks at them. Spreads his legs a little wider. Lets him know. No words, but action. Because,

When it’s like this. When the world has gone to hell and Dutch can’t stop thinking, this is what Arthur can give him. The only thing.

Control.

Complete, utter power.

Dutch feeds off it after all. 

And then, sudden and sharp and devastating

Jesus

He’s inside.

And everything feels right again.

Arthur arcs back. His hands scrabbling for purchase on the flaking plaster of the wall as Dutch thrusts into him, breeching him, taking him. All of him until there will be nothing left. Until all he is is pleasure and pain and all the things in between. 

And he can’t speak, can’t say a word, because if he does then Dutch will leave and if he leaves now Arthur might go crazy. So he can’t.

But Dutch can.

“I’m doing everything I can Arthur.” He’s talking, hot and rough, in time with his thrusts. “I’m trying to make the best for us. I’m trying to keep us together here.” Low and controlled into the nape of Arthurs neck as he fucks him cold and merciless. One hand wrapped around his throat, the other in his mouth. 

He wants to say

I know Dutch.

He wants to tell him he trusts him, he believes in him, he knows he knows he knows

But he’s being fucked out of his goddamn mind. And if Dutch's fingers weren’t still in his mouth, he thinks he might have screamed the place down. Brought every fucker in a ten mile radius running.

He reaches behind him, up and back to grip at Dutch’s hair. To hold him even closer. His cheek against his now. His voice a reverberation in his head.

“You shouldn’t let me do this Arthur.” 

No, maybe he shouldn’t.

But he sure as hell wants to.

He reaches down to grip his own cock, stroke himself in time with the thrusts. Dutch’s breaths are getting unsteady now, his movements shaky.

He’s coming undone.

In the only way Dutch can.

His hand tightens on his throat, fingers digging in so hard that Arthur thinks there might be bruises after.

Bruises he can lie away.

Bruises he can look at in the mirror.

And remember.

Then

Oh 

Heat.

Full and vital and scalding inside him. Locked together for a moment so close that he thinks wildly that no-one will ever be able to separate them.

Not like this.

And then Dutch growls against his ear. An animal sound. 

And Arthur feels his legs almost go from under him. He wants to beg. He wants to plead. But he can’t.

Not a word.

Begging won’t get him anywhere when it’s like this.

Dutch helps him. In the end. When he’s waited long enough.

Waited for him to fuck it up.

He helps him. Wraps those fingers around his cock and jerks him off, rough and fast. No longer inside him so that Arthur feels empty, torn apart. Come dripping down his thighs.

“That’s it, my boy.” Arthur finds his grip on the wall again, bows his head so low that he can’t feel the breaths on his neck.

Because it’s too much right now.

“This is what you want.” He’s close, so close that he’s teetering on the edge and he needs just a push, one little push, to send him right over. One sentence. 

“What only I can give you.”

He sees white, screws his eyes shut against it as he shudders and shakes.

And before he can speak, before he can catch his breath or straighten up properly, Dutch’s fingers are back in his mouth, pushing inside to make him taste himself. Thick, messy, undeniable proof.

“So this is ruin.” Dutch murmurs as Arthur straightens out, turns and falls back against the wall. Dutch holds a hand out to steady him, wraps it around his back and tugs him closer.

Arthur drops his head, his forehead pressing against Dutch’s sternum. His heartbeat is regular. He looks no less fucked than he ever does. There is no ruin in Dutch’s demeanour.

Until.

“I like it.” At Arthurs words, his truthful, pathetic, broken words, Dutch’s heart speeds. A touch. But Arthur can feel it.

He’s penetrated him.

He smiles then as Dutch kisses the top of his head before pushing away, turning from the wreckage he’s made and walking to the door. 

“Well, I missed you too Dutch.” He says it as a joke but Dutch stiffens, his back to him still. It’s almost imperceptible, you have to know someone really well to recognise it.

But Arthur does know him really well.

He just didn’t expect it.

“Don’t be gone so long in future Arthur. I...we, need you here.” Then the door opens and he’s gone, calling out to Abigail in his Van Der Linde voice, echoing, booming, powerful.

But Arthur cradles the other voice to himself as he drops down onto the mat, not even bothering to tug his pants back up. He cradles the low voice, the deep one, the one that speaks wicked in his ear.

The one only he knows.

So he cradles that to himself and falls, finally, into a deep, thoughtless sleep.


End file.
